by Pride
“How did the ancient workmen manage to build such a thing?” she asked.
“It took a lot of labour and a lot of rollers. I have been talking to Sir Matthew,” he said, “and he has made a study of it. Luckily we do not have to build it, only to climb it!”
“And that is difficult enough,” said Elizabeth.
But she was not complaining. She found the exercise exhilarating, and the knowledge that she was climbing farther and farther to the top spurred her on.
They stopped to look about them and enjoy the beauty of the scene as the darkness gradually lessened and became less impenetrable. The desert lost its amorphous look and began to reveal its contours, and the outlines of the buildings in Cairo were dimly visible in the waning moonlight, their minarets showing as black silhouettes against the sky.
Having caught their breath, they set off again for the summit. The air began to grow warmer and Elizabeth climbed with renewed vigor when she saw that the top was within reach. With a burst of effort, she climbed the last few blocks and stood upright at the apex. She felt a huge sense of achievement and was flooded with a sense of wonder as she realised that dawn was on its way.
She spun slowly, drinking in the wonderful view. She could see for miles, and she came to rest again facing the east. There was a mist over the plains, but it could not obscure the spectacular sight as the sun began to rise. Bands of orange light suffused the sky, warming the diaphanous clouds, and at their centre was the very top of the sun’s molten disk as it began to rise above the horizon. It seemed to grow as she watched it, and the light intensified as it spread its rays ever wider, illuminating the desert and driving the chill from the air. She turned again, slowly, as the mist began to clear, unveiling a majestic view. To the south she could see a collection of smaller pyramids, their sand-coloured sides warming to tawny in the orange light, and to the west was the endless desert, its billowing dunes turning golden before her eyes. She turned slowly again to the north and looked out across fertile lands, with the Nile descending toward the sea. And turning again to the east she saw Cairo sparkling in the strengthening sunlight, the gold light of morning gleaming on its numerous minarets. Beyond Cairo lay the plains, lushly populated with groves of palm trees, and far off in the distance were the mountains.
“Well?” he asked softly. “Was it worth it?”
“Oh, yes,” she nodded, glancing at him before looking back at the wondrous view. “A thousand times yes. We will remember this for the rest of our lives.”
He put his arms around her waist and she turned to face him, and they kissed in the early morning sunlight as if it was the first time.
***
In Cairo, the rest of the party was having a more conventional start to the day. With the children soon whisked away by their tutors and Mrs Bennet declaring that she had had enough of the sun and that she intended to write some letters, Sophie suddenly found herself with nothing to occupy her. This was such an unusual state of affairs that she could not, to begin with, think what to do about it. At home she was constantly in demand either by her parents, her married brothers and sisters, or the vicar and his wife, since everyone thought that an unmarried woman could have no plans of her own and would be glad of any occupation.
Elizabeth and Darcy were far more courteous to her, but she had found that there was always something for her to do and, eager to repay their hospitality, she had done it. And so she had not realised until now that she had barely had a moment to herself. She was either helping Elizabeth share the burden of Mrs Bennet or she was amusing Margaret and trying to distract her from her rather horrid doll or she was performing a hundred other little tasks that needed doing. The prospect of a free morning was unsettling for a moment—then it was liberating.
Unlike Mrs Bennet, Sophie did not feel the need to go and hide from the sun. Indeed, Cairo in October was little hotter than a high summer’s day in England, and their journey had taken them through lands with much fiercer heat than that which they were now experiencing. She decided to take a leisurely stroll around the grounds of the house and perhaps rest in the shade of a palm tree with a book. So, armed with the latest edition of poems by Lord Byron, she set out for a quiet place to read.
The house was situated near the river, and as Sophie walked down the sloping hill that looked out onto the Nile, she was delighted to see the white sails of the feluccas, the Egyptian Nile boats, floating gracefully up and down the water. For a moment she stood and admired their beauty against the deep blue of the sky; then she realised she was not alone. Someone else was standing in the shade of the trees, an easel in front of him. With a start Sophie saw it was Mr Inkworthy.
She was aware of conflicting emotions where the young men were concerned. Despite her best efforts not to encourage either one of them, she took pleasure in their company and it was obvious they took pleasure in hers.
During the long sea voyage she had perforce seen much of both of them and found much to like in each. She liked Edward’s bright spirits and lively nature, but she also liked Paul’s quieter, more serious character and she had found his grave, courteous attention pleasant. She liked the way he encouraged the children to paint and had found something good to say about each attempt, even those from Laurence and Jane, whose restless spirits had found it the hardest to practise the patience and stillness that all artists require. She enjoyed his company and she thought he enjoyed hers too, but ever since they had landed in Alexandria he seemed to be avoiding her. Six months ago such behaviour would have driven her back into her shell again, but she was not the same girl who had boarded the ship at Southampton and she was glad of an opportunity to speak to him, for she liked his company.
“Mr Inkworthy!” she called. “Is it not a beautiful day?”
“Yes… indeed, yes.”
“May I see what you are painting?”
“Oh… I… of course.”
He moved back slightly from the easel. Since it was hot and he had assumed he would not be disturbed, he had thrown off his frock coat and stood now in a thin lawn chemise with the sleeves turned back. His arms were tanned and he looked a romantic figure, with his golden arms and neck, and his hair stirring slightly in the breeze. He reminded her of Lord Byron, whose person no less than his poetry drove the women in London wild. But whereas she had seen Lord Byron and not been impressed, she could not help her feelings stir at such a sight.
She realised that she was staring and, with a blush, turned her attention to the painting he was working on. It was a scene of the family near the river. Mr Darcy and Elizabeth were in the centre, the children playing around them. William was reading a book, while John, Laurence, and Jane were running after a surprised monkey which had just leapt into a tree for shelter. Their mischievous expressions were so lifelike that Sophie could not help but smile. Beth was next to her mother showing her some embroidery and looking very grown-up. Slightly to the edge of the painting was Margaret, with her doll, and an attractive, elegant-looking woman in a pale blue gown was seated beside her, listening intently to something the little girl was saying. The dress looked familiar to Sophie and she frowned trying to remember where she had seen it before. Then, suddenly, in a flash, she realised it was one of hers and that she, in fact, was the woman in the picture. She flushed.
“It is a striking painting,” she said.
“Striking? Perhaps, but I fancy I haven’t quite managed to replicate the vivid colours of the flowers or the way the sunlight plays on the water. I thought if I came out here I would be able to capture it more realistically.”
“I am disturbing you. I should leave.”
“No. Please don’t,” he said impulsively.
She felt she should go back to the house, but she was unable to tear herself away.
“You have caught the children’s characters extremely well,” she said, feeling it was safer to speak of painting than
anything else. “Beth is very well done; she looks charming, but I fear you’ve romanticised Margaret’s doll.”
He laughed, sounding more comfortable. “It is rather ugly, is it not? I did not wish to scare my employers too much, and so I have softened its malevolent features.”
“I confess I like it better that way. And you’ve been far too flattering to me. I scarcely recognise myself.”
He looked at her more gravely. “I am afraid I cannot agree with you there. I have painted what I see.”
Sophie suddenly felt uncomfortable and yet happy at the same time. She realised at last that he had not been avoiding her because he found her company dull; indeed, his motivation was the exact opposite. To cover her confusion, she looked more closely at the painting.
“How cleverly you have drawn together the whole family in such an exotic setting. And the expression in the eyes is very realistic. Whenever I try to draw, my subjects look lifeless and doll-like.”
“It is a skill that can be taught.”
“I am sure it cannot. One has to have talent.”
“Of course. But even talent has to be nurtured or it will wither and die. I taught you how to draw the wind in the sails on our voyage, did I not? Now let me show you how to catch the expression lines of a face.”
He took the painting off the easel and placed it carefully in the shade of the wide-leaved tree before putting some blank paper in its place; then he began to explain to Sophie how to bring figures to life on the canvas. Soon she was engrossed in the lesson, and when he offered her the use of a chair and the rough drawing board he had brought out with him, so that she might practise the techniques he had suggested, she accepted with alacrity, Byron and his poems forgotten. Both of them lost track of time as he put his arm around her and covered her hand with his as he guided her pencil strokes, showing her how to suggest an expression with a few lines. She liked the feel of his closeness and the firm grip of his hand. She liked, too, the feel of his breath on the back of her neck, and when he stood up and rested his hand on her shoulder, she liked the warmth that radiated outward from his hand.
So engrossed did she become that she did not notice time passing. It was not until Laurence and Jane came roaring and galloping down the slope with a message from Mrs Bennet, saying, “Mama and Papa are back!” that she realised how late it was.
Paul stepped away from her, saying, “You have promise, Miss Lucas. I hope you do not waste it.”
Then John and Margaret appeared, and they found they had many willing young hands to help them disassemble their artistic paraphernalia and carry it up the hill in time for a late luncheon.
***
Elizabeth and Darcy returned to the house refreshed and revitalised after their romantic sojourn. It was a good thing, as they were met with a variety of complaints on their return: John declared that Laurence had taken some of his soldiers, and Laurence declared that he had never touched the things; William said that Jane had drawn in one of his books, which Jane denied; Beth said she was sure she ought to be wearing her hair up as she would soon be fourteen and would be a laughingstock if she continued to wear it tumbling around her shoulders; and Mrs Bennet complained that Margaret would not let go of her old Egyptian doll.
“I cannot think why, when she has a lovely, new doll to play with,” said Mrs Bennet. She held out the new doll enticingly. “See, my lamb, this is so much prettier than that horrid creature covered in smudges. See how the headdress sparkles on this one. Ouch. And that nasty thing is covered in splinters!”
“Thank you very much, Grandmama, but I like Aahotep best,” said Meg gravely. “She talks to me.”
“Oh, how I remember my dolls all talking to me. There was a toy soldier of my brother’s, I remember, who used to ask me all the time to dance! But he was a nice, clean doll in a red coat, not a nasty, dirty thing. Just look at your new doll’s dress, Margaret. She will talk to you too if you give her the chance.”
Margaret looked disdainful, saying, “How can she, Grandmama? She is only a toy.”
“Only a toy?” asked Mrs Bennet. “Only a toy? Why, she is an Egyptian princess.”
“No,” said Margaret firmly, clutching Aahotep tightly and looking scathingly at the offered treasure.
“If I had spoken to my grandmama like that when I was a little girl…” Mrs Bennet began.
Knowing that Mrs Bennet’s tales of when I was a girl could last for hours, Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged glances.
“Meg, my darling, time to go to the schoolroom,” Darcy said, holding out a hand to Margaret, who took it happily, and the other children accompanied them—all but Beth and William, who were now old enough to eat with the adults. Meanwhile, Elizabeth put her arm through her mother’s.
“Come, Mama, let us go in to luncheon,” she said, leading her mother firmly away from the children.
“I cannot think why Meg is so enamored of that ugly thing,” said Mrs Bennet.
“All children have their foibles, as you well know,” said Elizabeth.
“I am sure I would never have allowed you to have something like that,” said Mrs Bennet. “When you were children…”
Elizabeth sought to distract her mother’s attention, for tales of Mrs Bennet’s exemplary maternal achievements were almost as frequent as her tales of when I was a girl. Luckily, Elizabeth did not have far to look, for Edward had met Sir Matthew Rosen that morning by arrangement at a local souk and had brought him back for luncheon.
“I hope I am not intruding,” said Sir Matthew, rising to greet them.
“Not at all,” said Elizabeth. “We are delighted to see you. How are things at the dig?”
“They are improving all the time. I have just secured the services of a physician, who will be joining us at the camp shortly. There are always minor injuries and illnesses on such a dig, and now that our numbers are growing, a physician is a useful man to have about the place.”
As they took their places round the table, Sir Matthew continued to tell them of the conditions in the camp, the progress that had been made, and the small treasures found, making sure to thank Edward for his patronage and to stress how vital his continued support would be to the continuation of the dig. He regaled them also with an account of some of the difficulties: the problems of hiring reliable workmen, the heat, and the ever encroaching sand.
“I cannot wait to see it for myself,” said Edward.
“Why do you not all come?” asked Sir Matthew.
Sophie brightened at once, while Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, his eyes saying, Sir Matthew is hoping for further investment in his work.
Elizabeth knew that this was Sir Matthew’s motive, but despite this, she found herself stimulated by the idea. It had been their intention to remain in Cairo, where it was relatively civilised, while Edward went on to the dig, but the lure of the desert had taken hold of her and she found herself longing to explore.
“Yes. Why not?” said Elizabeth, looking at Darcy.
“Because life on a dig is very hard,” said Darcy.
“Our dig is bigger than most,” said Sir Matthew. “We have almost a small village of tents, with easy access to the river and a wealth of interesting tombs in the vicinity. We have several renowned scholars working there, men with international reputations. It would be educational for the children, and of course this kind of opportunity does not come along very often. There are many discoveries to be made, not only of treasures but also of scholarship. Just think if we find another Rosetta Stone. We could name it the Darcy Tablet.”
Darcy laughed. “You know how to flatter your patrons.”
“But why not?” asked Sir Matthew. “Discoveries have to be given some name, and the name of the generous patron is surely the best one to give.”
“I think my cousin will be disappointed if I steal his thunder,” said Darcy.
>
“Not at all,” said Edward robustly. “You may have the privilege of giving your name to any significant historical or archaeological finds, while I will content myself with the treasure.”
“You still believe you will find your tomb?” asked Sir Matthew.
“I am certain of it.”
“Treasure?” said Mrs Bennet. “Oh, yes, I do hope we find some treasure. I would like a new necklace, for Mrs Long was wearing a diamond necklace before we left and crowing about how valuable it was. I am sure we will find something better here, or what was the point of coming all this way?”
Elizabeth forbore to mention to her mama that she had not been invited but had taken it upon herself without so much as an invitation.
“Well?” said Sir Matthew, looking at Darcy.
Darcy turned his glass in his hand. “When do you leave?” he asked.
“I was planning to return tomorrow, but if you will join me, I will wait for you and travel onward at your convenience.”
“And my expense?” asked Darcy good-naturedly.
“Naturally,” said Sir Matthew. “Further patronage is always welcome.”
Elizabeth glanced at Darcy with unmistakable enthusiasm.
“I can see that my wife will give me no peace if I refuse her this opportunity to live in a tent, where all her possessions will be covered in sand and where she will have nothing to entertain her but a hole in the ground, and so I accept. And as my wife will not consent to leave the children behind, we will all accompany you when you return to the dig.”
Sir Matthew bowed. “As to the patronage…” he began.
Elizabeth took her cue and stood up. She gathered the ladies with her eye and led them from the room, leaving the gentlemen to discuss the financial implications and the practical necessities of their onward journey. The ladies made their way to the cool, airy chamber they had claimed as their sitting room. While Mrs Bennet enthused about the portrait Mr Inkworthy was painting of her, Beth picked up her sketchbook and Elizabeth and Sophie turned their attention to writing some letters.
